


Checkmate

by Skylar0Grace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylar0Grace/pseuds/Skylar0Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped. Alone. Terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Written from Prompt [#6](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/67791.html?thread=878799#t878799).

It's just splashes of colour really. Reds, blues, and oranges swirling together to make fuzzy shapes that she knows should resemble something. She can hear the laughter as though it is right beside her when she knows that she's just remembering things from the night before, but she also knows that if she gives into the memories, reality is going to come crashing in. The smell of earth intrudes on the air around her and she tries to turn her head away, only to have her hair catch on something. Her hand immediately finds her scalp, but the rest of her arm is hindered by wood of some sort, and she tries to push the material away. It doesn't budge.

 

She panics.

 

Rolling onto her back, she realises that something is all around her and even kicking out with her feet does absolutely nothing to free her. Realisation hits her like a bucket of icy water and any notion of holding onto the illusion of the hazy night before are tossed aside as she tries to piece together her current predicament. Her breath becomes shallow and rapid, and a half-strangled sob escapes as she tries over and over to free herself. A voice penetrates her panic.

 

"The more you panic, the faster this ends."

 

What? The faster what ends? Whose voice is it and where is she? Those, and a multitude of other questions swarm around her brain, but only a sob leaves her lips and the voice chuckles.

 

"I don't know what you're complaining about – you want this. Have for a while. Isn't that why you are trying to coax yourself into oblivion most nights? Isn't that why you've pushed everyone away? So that you can be free from this life?"

 

"What are you talking about? Who are you?"

 

She screams, but she's sure the voice doesn't need the volume to hear her. There's some sort of magic projecting the voice into whatever she's trapped in. She can't feel her wand anywhere and she tries using wandless magic, but she's still too inebriated.

 

"Hermione, of all people, you can't lie to me. Don't worry, if someone _really_ wants to find you, they will. But I think we both know you've made that next to impossible. I don't think even Ron will be in any sort of rush to find you. Especially not after last night."

 

Her heart clenches at the mention of her best friend – boyfriend, she corrects herself – and memories from the previous night come crashing back in surround sound and technicolour, along with everything she was feeling. The influx of emotions is almost too much to bear, but she knows there's something important she needs to find, and she wades through. Yellows, ambers, the laughter – her laughter, and the overwhelming sense of fear and loss of control as the anniversary was celebrated by the wizarding community. She can remember Ron pleading with her to go home with him, and her bitter response of 'wet blanket' being like a slap in the face to him. She remembers being so angry with him, and trying to use that, because she honestly can't remember the last time she felt anything for him and anger has to be better than apathy, right? 

 

She doesn't remember how, but the next thing she remembers is whispering into a certain ex-Death Eater's ear things she would _never_ say if she wasn't intoxicated and pulling his stiff and surprised body in as she kissed him soundly on the mouth. After the shock had worn off, there was a brief moment when he responded in kind before pushing her back with something akin to regret in his eyes. Or pity. She couldn't really tell the difference at that point, but she does remember the hurt look on Ron's face from across the room before he walked out the door.

 

A maniacal laughter settles around her and she thrashes in fear again. Most people have settled down after the war, returning to their 'normal' lives, planning for their futures, and she finds herself in a situation which she knows is entirely of her own making. She's not sure how, but it is.

 

"I'm sure Ron would be here if he wanted to. Maybe he just needs a little time to cool off. You did break his heart into a million pieces, though I suspect your slow and steady descent into whatever self-destructive pattern you're circling in had already created fractures. You know, you have a good life. It's not perfect, sure, but it's better than being dead. Guess you'll know soon enough."

 

"What do you want from me?"

 

She tries to slow her breathing down, trying to preserve whatever precious oxygen she has left as her fingers feel along whatever is confining her. A wooden box, she thinks.

 

A coffin.

 

"You? Absolutely nothing. Personally, I think the world is better off without you but the people around you might feel differently so I've given them a chance to save you. If they want to."

 

"You're sick, you know that?"

 

"I'd estimate you have about two hours left. Actually, more like ninety minutes after all that panicking, but that's just an outside estimat-"

 

"Granger?!"

 

She can hear Draco Malfoy's voice somewhere above her and she screams as loud as she can for help. She slams her fists into the rough wood and clouds of dirt rain down on her for her efforts.

 

"Granger, I don't know if you can hear me, but hold on!"

 

She can hear some sort of muffled noise before Harry's voice drowns out everything.

 

"Hermione? Please, can you tell us what happened? Who did this to you?"

 

"I don't know!" The voice laughs back at her.

 

"Oh, I think you do. It's there somewhere; somewhere in all that knowledge crammed into your brain, you remember. The war might have affected so many people but only you are to blame for what happened to me. You!"

 

The voice is so full of rage that she bites her lip in fear. She's not a bad person – she might not be dealing with things very well at the moment but she's still finding her feet. Her life was ordinary until the day that letter arrived and from that moment on, nothing had ever been the same. As she grew, so did Voldemort's strength, and her life became not only about finding her way in the world, but making sure there was a world in which to find herself. She had to grow up very quickly indeed and shoulder more burdens than anyone her age should have to. But she wasn't alone. With Ron and Harry by her side, she had strength and, most importantly, hope. She helped save the world.

 

"I haven't done anything to you! I help people, not hurt them!"

 

The voice is entirely cynical. "Shouldn't that be 'helped'? I mean, really, when was the last time you could honestly say you helped someone? All you've been doing is trying to lose yourself and you lost sight of what was going on around you. You let everyone down. You let _me_ down! You don't deserve anything!"

 

Hermione can hear sounds above her, what she hopes is her rescue, but her heart aches as she thinks that there is someone who hates her enough to bury her.

 

"You don't have much time left."

 

She starts banging on the coffin lid and screaming at the top of her lungs. The voices are slightly more discernible than before and she hopes they get to her in time.

 

"Please," she pleads, "please don't do this to me! I'll give you anything you want! Don't do this to me!"

 

The voice is lower and much more fearsome, as though someone were leaning right by her ear. "You did this to yourself. You disgust me. For all of the praise that was lavished on you, no one really understood just how pathetic you were. You might have 'saved' the general population but there were so many others that died, so many others that suffered - so many others that are suffering still. And whilst you get to go on, living it up and ignoring just how precious your life is, not everyone is so lucky. You're pathetic."

 

She tells herself that it was her self-preservation kicking in, that she was slowing her breathing down to conserve what air she had left until Harry could reach her, but she realises that it is just the air running out. Her eyelids flutter as she tries to stay conscious. Her brain starts whirring as fast as possible to figure out just where she knows that cold, familiar voice from. She knows that it hasn't always been cold, and just as wisps of memory float within reach, the lack of oxygen snatches them away again.

 

A single voice breaks through everything; through her thinking, the noise both above the coffin and the voice inside of it, through the slowing sounds of her breathing.

 

"Hermione?" It's Ron. And somewhere, deep down, she feels relief that he is so near. "Hermione, you're going to be okay. Hold on, please, just a little longer."

 

There's a longer pause between each breath now, and there's a pressure building up inside her body that she just can't seem to get rid of. And she's so tired; so very, very tired. She knows that sleep is the last thing she should be thinking of, but even as the voices above start making more and more noise – no doubt closing in on her – the harsh laughter filters around her and she can almost, _almost_ figure out why that voice is so familiar.

 

"I'm so sorry..."

 

–

 

"I'm so sorry."

 

Ron pulls back, completely enraged as he looks for an outlet. He finds it standing morosely off to the side. "What the hell did you do?"

 

Harry pulls Ron back from Draco, pinning his arms behind his back as he tries to fight him.

 

"I didn't do anything! This wasn't me! I just came back here–"

 

"To what? Snog my girlfriend again? Haven't you caused enough trouble?!"

 

"Calm down, mate, Draco isn't responsible for this. It wasn't his fault. He didn't do this to her."

 

Ron shakes off Harry's arms and spins around, glaring at his best friend. "Then who did?"

 

"She did."

 

Almost every eye turns to the Malfoy heir, and he's sure all of them are wishing he would just keep his mouth shut. He picks up her wand. "It's self inflicted. I've only read about before, but I know that's what it is."

 

He kneels down beside her still body and there's a bristle in the air as he gets entirely too close to her for their comfort.

 

"She would have known about it too. It's a curse – a way to create your own judge, jury and executioner – but there's no out here. Anyone desperate enough to curse themselves doesn't believe enough to survive."

 

"You're lying."

 

It surprises everyone when Harry steps forward and backs Draco's assessment. He's seen it before, and as he reaches down to tuck a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear, he neglects to mention just how close he's come to falling victim to it himself. He knows just how harsh a critic she was on herself and how much pain she'd been living with. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead and hopes she at last found peace.

(please return to [livejournal](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/79609.html) to comment, or comment in both places)


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